


Exceptions

by seperis



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-05-13
Updated: 2001-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seperis/pseuds/seperis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which revelation is just about as anticlimactic as it comes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exceptions

He had to guess he knew her a little too well when a look, not a scent, told him something was troubling her. Knew by the slide of her hand down the polished edge of the wooden door as she closed it, her carefully measured stride toward the edge of the porch, boot heels tapping out a rapid rhythm on the painted wood, scarf draped loosely over her throat, half-tied. One hand dipped into the pocket of the jacket she'd tied around her hips, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and she shook out one, looking at it for a long moment between her gloved fingers.

Her body was on the porch, that was a given--her mind wasn't anywhere close.

"Rogue?"

A slight, surprised turn of her head, giving him a view of her profile and he heard himself growl softly at the unmistakable look on her face. God knew, he'd seen it before, and hated it every time.

"Can it, sugar," she answered, but a smile tilted up her lips, probably against her will. Long fingers quickly tried to brush away the tracks of tears he'd seen reflected in the faint moonlight. "I haven't needed you to protect me in a long time."

He smiled back, studying her, taking in the scent of her. All Rogue, all conflict and energy. Smelling of anger and hurt and frustration--and relief, very strange. Not entirely unexpected, though, and Logan put his beer down on the porch, leaning back into the armrest of the swing, chain digging a little into his back.

"Maybe not, but you sure as hell look like you need somethin'. Come on over here." With a slight kick, he swung one leg off the other end of the swing, gesturing grandly, which got him a second smile and the slightest hesitation. "Come on, darlin'. Siddown."

Sometimes, just sometimes, he looked at her and wondered how on earth he'd had the good sense to pick her up. First of his strays, as the Professor liked to call them, and he didn't even bother to pretend anymore, at least to himself, that she wasn't his favorite. She sauntered over--and she'd learned that from him, no question--and dropped down onto the seat with a sigh, leaning back against his leg before lifting her cigarette. Without a word, he groped for his lighter, currently trapped under his thigh, and lit the tip.

"You okay?"

"Fine. Just--you know. Crap." She waved the cigarette in the air vaguely before taking a long drag--and he knew it was more than just that. Another thing from him--couldn't stand cigars, though she liked the smell. Her compromise had been cigarettes and she'd given those up pretty early on, with his fading presence from her mind. Years ago.

Shit--had it been ten years? That long?

"You wanna be more specific?" A shake of her head, face going down as she drew up a knee to her chest, locking a booted heel against the edge of the swing, chin resting on her knee. Then a soft sigh, and he moved his arm around her shoulder and pulled her gently into his chest, carefully moving his cigar to his free hand, away from the long hair and pale, delicate face. "That bad?"

"Just inevitable, you know?" A pained smile he could just see and the scent coming off of her was almost resignation. Then softer. "I should be used to it."

"Remy, huh?" Stray number two, and he remembered when the kid had first seen Rogue--if it wasn't love at first sight, it'd been awfully close to it. Definitely lust at first sight, and Logan really couldn't blame him for that--at twenty, Rogue had been the definition of unattainable, which was all kinds of attractive to any man, period. Not to mention finally growing into herself, that first moment when he and Remy had both caught their breaths at the sight of her on the Mansion's lawn.

At which time he'd _*known*_ he'd been away too long, when she could change that much, grow that much, and he wasn't around to see it.

"He's in love," she said finally, muffled against his shirt. "I guess--you know, it's right, for them? And it's not like he's been leading me on or anything--it's been awhile since we were--together--and I know they're tight, him and 'Ro. They have been, for awhile."

Glad he'd worn his gloves,--though shit, what kind of good luck was it that he'd grabbed them before leaving his room?--he stroked her hair back, feeling the dampness seep in through his shirt as she hid her face. Crying.

"You want me to kill him for you?"

"You like him." A little grin, but the slightest edge, because he _*did*_ like Remy and Rogue had not taken Remy's appearance in his life well at all initially. Not quite jealousy, but he'd finally categorized it (after two fights between the two and some serious thought, not to mention a heads-up from the Professor) under plain possessiveness. Which oddly enough, she'd never translated to any of the women in his life. Hmm. "You've known for awhile, haven't you?" Not accusing--more acknowledgement that her own perceptions had been skewed. He thought through his answer and took a long pull of his cigar before answering.

"Yeah. For awhile. I'm sorry, darlin'." The slightest shrug and then another sigh and he felt her prepare to get up. A hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Uh-uh. Make yourself comfortable. You ain't wanderin' off to brood on your own." She was famous for that.

"Look who's talking." She did relax though, and he stroked her hair again, feeling her move into it with a little sigh. "I don't think anyone could match you there, sugar."

"Exactly. Don't want the competition." She nodded again and took another drag of her cigarette. A soft laugh. "Rogue--"

"If you're gonna say somethin' about how I'll get over it, save it, sugar." Light humor.

"Nah." Of all people, he guessed he'd be the classic example of the concept of hopeless--not that he let himself think on that often, or at all for that matter. The reason was currently upstairs with her husband, probably checking up on one of their kids. "Brood all you like. Wreck some things in the Danger Room. Find some Brotherhood and kick their asses."

"Call Kitty and bitch with her about the perfidy of men?"

That brought a grin he couldn't help.

"If it keeps her from calling me, feel free."

"You like it when she calls you. Makes you feel oh-so-manly." Amusement, and he was glad to hear it.

"Yeah. I really do get a huge kick out of three hour phone calls and my sex called every name in the book and some of those names I fucking _*know*_ I didn't teach her." She was relaxing, the shock was wearing off. And she had been ready for this, he knew that much. And also knew there was a small part of her she'd probably never admit was utterly relieved that the bridge was burned. For good. Because she was right, 'Ro and Remy were very close and had been since before Remy and Rogue had broken up.

Inevitable indeed.

"Logan, how the hell do I get in these messes?" A shift and he pushed her hair back from her face.

"Same way the rest of us do, darlin'. Takin' risks." He brooded on that, eyes going to that upper window briefly before flitting back down. There'd been women after he'd first fell for Jean, and he'd been in love since, and Jean hadn't actually stopped him from pursing any of those--but--shit. He glanced down at Rogue and wondered if Remy would be to her what Jean was to him, one of those dreams you could never quite forget, never quite gave up on. Never completely forgot how much it hurt to know you'd never have. Something in him twisted a little--he'd never wanted that for her.

He didn't want to see reflected in her eyes what he sometimes saw in his. Shit, she was too young for that.

"Yeah. Your luck's about as great as mine." Then she froze when he did and a hand was pressed to his chest, instantly apologetic. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean--" Another pause and then the gloved fingers tightened briefly. "I'm a bitch, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, but I love you anyway." Continued to stroke her hair, shutting his eyes briefly to regain control, wishing she hadn't felt him react. But it had hurt and he knew a part of her had struck out deliberately, wanting to inflict some kind of pain on someone to match what was burning in her--and he was in range and a safe target. Old, nice, safe Logan, who'd dressed her wounds from her first mission and sat with her through nightmares and came home to be with her the first time her heart was broken and let her cry in his lap. Bobby, he was almost certain. A long time ago.

It _*had*_ been ten years after all. Glancing down at her, the casual sprawl of her legs that she'd pulled up and draped over the other side of the swing, the long, lean lines of her body. Shifting his leg a little so she settled between with a soft sigh, he wondered when it was she'd grown up enough to hurt this much.

"You want me to move?" Softly content, a cat being stroked just the right way.

Definitely a no there. He loved to touch her, loved the fact she let him, always had. Somewhere in her, he guessed she figured that someone who'd survived her twice wasn't likely to be killed by her anytime soon. It reminded him of Carol, suddenly, and how she'd been when they called him home, how Remy had sat outside waiting for him and how the Professor had worried.

He had to wonder, just a little, if that nightmare had been the beginning of the end of Remy and Rogue's relationship. Because if she'd accepted touch before, limited though it was, she'd never accepted it again. Except from him, but see above theory.

And besides, when the hell had he ever asked permission anyway?

"Nah. I'm fine." So he couldn't reach his beer--who the hell cared. It'd been a long time since they'd had time together alone. Definitely not much since Remy.

He'd watched their relationship develop--though to be honest, his worries had been more for Remy than Rogue. She could take care of herself fine, but Remy, under his attitude, could shatter like glass. He'd been in bad relationships--hell, he'd still been in one the first time he asked Rogue out. And if Logan encouraged them, he honestly couldn't fault himself for that, because when they'd allowed themselves to be happy, they were happy. Period. That had to be worth something.

Not much comfort now, though, with the girl in his arms who was mourning something she'd been losing for a long time. And he understood that too.

"You goin' to sleep?" Her heartbeat was slowing down, her breathing evening out.

"Just comfortable." The slightest trace of humor. "A little too wired to sleep, sugar."

"You're always wired."

"Comes with the territory." She lifted her head, turning impossibly green eyes on him for a moment. Uncertain. "You want me to leave?"

"Brooding's more fun with company," he answered lightly and drew her head back down. Her entire body went boneless then and he had to smile at that. Some things she'd never lost from childhood. Stroked a hand down over her t-shirt, the two inches of skin between shirt and gloves, then slowly across her back, raising his eyebrows at the lack of a bra line. Come to think of it--

"You can be a real pervert, Logan." There was laughter in her voice.

"Why the hell do you shop for that crap if you don't wear it?" Another stroke up her back to make her laugh. "Never mind, some woman thing, right?"

"Like anyone'll notice."

"Trust me, men notice." He hadn't noticed, actually, until now. Hmmm.

"Probably." On a sigh, and her scent was a little sad. Rogue brooding wasn't something he was at all prepared to let happen without a fight. He shifted them both up and she blinked, lifting her head. "Huh?"

She was elegant, even when gaping. Cute. He flicked the tip of her nose, then took her cigarette and butted it out in the ashtray along with the stump of his cigar.

"Come on." Pushed her to her feet, swung his left leg (almost asleep) off the swing and stood up, groping for the jacket he'd discarded on the banister and untying hers from around her waist. She let him dress her without much protest and, grabbing her hand, he pulled her behind him, off the porch, toward the garage.

"We're goin' somewhere?"

"General idea, baby." Keys, keys, keys--yes, jeans pocket, had wallet, had credit cards, helmet for her that he popped on her head before she could mumble about invulnerability. Grinning, he keyed the ignition and felt her get on behind him, arms going around his waist--

\--and Rogue wasn't wearing a bra and dear God, if he hadn't known before, he sure as hell did now, and _*why*_ was he noticing this now? He'd seen her naked, for God's sake. He'd shared a bed with her naked. They'd shared a fucking shower--though granted, he'd been mostly dressed because he was many things but suicidal wasn't one of them, scrubbing blood from her skin and wishing like hell that just once, a mission would go as planned. There was nothing, and repeating this for emphasis, nothing here a mystery, nothing about her he didn't know.

Except he was speculating on that lack of a bra and that just wasn't normal.

* * *

It was his favorite bar--hers too. Smoky, dark, not a place to meet people--it was somewhere you went to drink, and drink seriously, with country music and classic rock playing unobtrusively in the background. Nice memories--he'd gotten her drunk here on her twenty-first birthday and held her hair back in the tiny bathroom while she emptied the contents of her stomach. Several times. Fun night. Carrying her home had been all kinds of interesting, because as it happened, Rogue was extraordinarily friendly when she was drunk.

He was almost certain she'd been groping his ass when he carried her out. And at the time--

\--he looked at her now as she dropped the first shot glass on the round table with a grin and instantly relegated that memory to the recesses of his mind. No reason to remember that bit of past history trivia. No reason at all.

"Another." Slow smile, tapping the edge of her glass with a gloved finger. Mercurial changes of mood, a little mischievous, a lot needing the release. They were way too much alike, and he couldn't even blame it on their shared memory either. Just Rogue.

"Invulnerability doesn't mean you hold your alcohol any better, darlin'." He picked up the bottle he'd gotten from the bartender and she laughed. This was their booth--always used it when they came here, with or without other people.

"No, it doesn't. But shit, Logan, you've been drinking with me for years--I had to learn somethin', right? Besides, Remy was a bourbon boy, you know that. I've got immunity to the crap." Waving the empty shot glass for emphasis, and he noticed she was wearing the black leather gloves tonight, the ones he'd gotten her in Brazil a few months before. One of those weird random things that he'd suddenly thought of for no particular reason whenever he was traveling.

Bourbon reminded her of Remy. Probably why they were drinking Jack Daniels now. Logan refilled his shot glass and then hers, watching her pick it up delicately between her fingers. This was definitely not a night to savor alcohol--this was speed-drinking. Which meant, even his healing factor wouldn't quite be able to keep up.

Hmm.

Rogue turned over her glass with the next shot, then banged it down on the table abruptly, jerking his full attention back to her.

"I don't like men. Present company excluded, 'course." Another charming smile. She had a lot of those, he noted. Smiles. Her wheedling smile, last seen when she wanted him to take her shopping in Hong Kong for some sort of exotic present for Remy's birthday. Her determined smile, when trying to convince him to wear a tuxedo--and fuck if she hadn't managed to make him do it. Then her gaze met his, challenging. "What, no consolation for me here? The whole fish theory?"

"Fish theory?" Surely he wasn't drunk yet. He should be able to follow this conversation.

Her arms crossed over her chest and she frowned. So he was either dense or she was jumping subjects like no one's business. Was that two shots or three?

"You know, fish in the sea thing. Lots of fish, one me, gotta be able to find one someday."

That sounded remarkably like something Jubes would say. Logan turned her shot glass over and filled it, then his. Took a long look at the brown liquid, then up at her as she twisted lithely in her seat, reaching for her glass. Then--

"Lose the gloves, Marie."

Her head jerked up.

\--and where the fuck had that come from?

"My gloves?" She stared down at her hand as if it belonged to someone else entirely. "Marie?"

He shrugged a little, then stripped his gloves off too, not sure what moved him so suddenly but wanting to play down what had just amounted to an order. Watched her hesitate, but compliance, as she slowly placed the fingers between her teeth and pulled it off, dropping it into her lap. Looked up at him, a little challenging, a little confused, a lot curious. Then the other, and he noticed she'd started growing her nails again.

"Why?"

Shit, he _*really*_ wished she hadn't asked that. He picked up his glass and her hand shot out, just over the sleeve of his shirt, then blinking a little, almost drawing away. But alcohol was alcohol and she'd taken those shots fast--she left her hand where it was and met his eyes.

"Logan--"

"Take your shot and I'll answer."

Her head tilted a little, then she picked up her glass and took it in a single swallow, head tilted back. Then stared at him, waiting, head cocked a little.

"Be comfortable. Nothin's gonna happen here."

For just a second, the green eyes stared into his and she was challenging him--but if he'd been asked again with a telepath right beside him, he wouldn't have been able to say anything else and shit, they'd know he was being truthful.

He had no idea what the hell was up with him. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers and he watched her shift them back to the table, tracing the grain of the old wood slowly with a nail.

"Tell me somethin'." Her head came up, cocking slightly. "When'd you decide you and Remy were over for good?"

For a moment, she froze, and he knew he'd pushed, and shit, what _*was*_ in the alcohol anyway? Then she flipped her glass into her hand.

"Take the shot and I'll tell you."

Keeping his gaze fixed on her, he threw it back, feeling the slight burn and she reached for the bottle, filling both their glasses quickly and lifting hers in one hand.

"When I knew he loved me."

Then she lifted her glass, looking down on it. Licked the corner of her mouth to catch a stray drop.

"That's it?"

"No. But that's most of it. The rest--" she shook her head, almost angry, and there was a burn of tears in her eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be making me feel better?"

"What would make you feel better?"

"Take me to Tokyo with you next week."

That was actually a pretty good idea and he sat back, thinking it through. He'd taken her for her nineteenth birthday and it'd been a physical effort to get her to leave. Shit, he hadn't wanted to leave either. In point of fact, he tried to remember why they'd had to come back at all. Ah, yes, attack or something, he was needed home, and he still hadn't discovered his past. Those days.

He took his shot and she took hers. Then studied her a little, seeing the intensity of her expression.

"Your Japanese sucks." He couldn't keep the amusement from his voice--Rogue just didn't have an ear for languages. What little she had was quite literally removed from either Eric Lensherr's, his, or Carol Danvers mind. Since what she got from him was during those days when he hadn't known he'd known--well, there it was. Though her German was quite good if she didn't think about what she was doing too much.

"I know how to ask for the bathroom and do the tea thing. You can tutor me with the rest." She frowned a little then, eyes going down. "You don't have--"

"No, actually, that's a good idea." Turned it over in his mind again, liked it even more. Get her away from the latest happy couple, he'd be out of range of the X-Men completely, and with any luck they wouldn't be called home until they were both ready. Which could possibly be never. She needed the time off bad. He grinned at that and she poured them each another shot, smiling now, but her eyes flickered up briefly, barely shadowed with something else.

"You sure?"

She usually wasn't this uncertain.

"Absolutely. Take your shot, baby." This was a good idea and why the hell didn't he think of it before? Well, of course, she'd rarely traveled with him after she and Remy got together. She'd gone to New Orleans a few times with Remy, and with the X-Men during their infrequent yet oddly endearing group vacations, and a couple of times on her own, but not with him for awhile. Hmm. He liked traveling with her--she was of the minimal packing persuasion, possibly because she had a love of shopping that rated up there with intense religious vocation. God, she and Jubes in Montreal--

That had been enough to drive him to drink.

"Hmm." She was thinking now. Trying to, anyway, and she was getting drunk, definitely, as her chin collided with her hand when she was trying to look thoughtful and bit her lip. Frowning, she raised a finger to her mouth and wiped a trickle of blood away. "Damn. You'd think invulnerability would keep me from being wounded by my own damned teeth."

"Sucks to be you, baby." Both fine eyebrows arched and she straightened--a little odd angle there, but close--and picked up her glass with a perfectly steady hand, throwing it back before leaning forward, both elbows on the table.

And once again, he realized Rogue wasn't wearing a bra and she did it very, very well. And apparently, she was also cold.

Logan took his shot and fixed his eyes on her ear. Gaze went back down immediately and stayed there, and he couldn't help it and had to wonder what the _*fuck*_ was up with him.

"Logan, if it'll make you feel better, I'll wear a bra the entire time we're there." A pause, and a wicked grin spread her lips as she wrapped her fingers around the neck of the bottle and if that wasn't suggestive as all hell, he didn't know what was. "I'll even be good and start wearing underwear."

At that moment, everything snapped into place. Snap. And the entirety of the bar changed.

One, he was obsessing about her bra. Logan wasn't a big believer in underwear in general and knew, *_knew*_, that Rogue's interest in it was purely fashion--and yes, she _*had*_ gotten that from him. He'd always known this. Knew it quite well. Nothing weird going on with that. He'd seen her a thousand times, if not more, because she lacked even the most basic sense of self-consciousness about nudity--it'd always been the danger factor that kept her covered up around other people.

Hmm.

Two, he was not staring at her chest because there was a lack of a bra--because while he could excuse that if it was, just on the principle that it was different, he was looking because he was enjoying it. Enjoying it a lot. He was looking at that tight t-shirt and her breasts clearly outlined underneath and he was definitely enjoying it. A lot.

Double hmm. Logan took his shot and motioned for Rogue to refill the glass. With a puzzled glance, she obeyed.

Three, this was Rogue and he'd never, never, except for that surprised moment six years ago, even really acknowledged the fact she had breasts. Or anything else. Because Rogue was not the kind of girl you thought of like that. Not the kind of girl _*he*_ thought about like that. Sexual feelings just didn't appear when your first look at her was at sixteenish, half-starved, and so thin she could have passed for a lamppost without much acting involved. Especially when they were cute and vulnerable and fragile as hell and you were focused on the leggy redhead in the lab. Especially when they looked up at you as if you were the Second Coming and superman all rolled up into one. Good for the ego, yes. Not good to encourage thoughts of rolling them on their back. Nope.

Except two little things to addendum that last one--she wasn't a little girl anymore and he was thinking of her like that and this little trip to Tokyo suddenly had all new aspects that he was suddenly completely aware of. Nothing changed at all.

Except it had, just now.

"Logan?"

Serious green eyes, dark hair, white streak pulled back behind her ear. T-shirt and leather pants and boots and gloveless hands. He knew her scent and how much she weighed and her every single dream. He knew her favorite food and her favorite perfume and he knew every single one of her exes. He even knew where she used to hide her diary and where she went to be alone and how much she loved to fly.

He knew everything about her and it snapped into place. Just like that--and it didn't happen with thunder and lightning and some sort of weird rush of shocked understanding and that should have scared him but didn't. It was just there, like it'd been waiting for him to see it or something all this time, and he sat back in the booth and just wondered why on earth it had taken so long.

"Logan?"

"Yeah." Back into real life with another snap and he took the next shot without noticing the taste or the burn. She was watching him and he had no idea what to say to her, except--except how did he say anything, or what the hell could he say?

"You okay?" Worried, frowning, giving the bottle a suspicious look, as if the thing was in danger of transforming into Mystique at a moment's notice.

"Sure." Fine. Great. Really damn good, actually, except for this thing. It was like life always decided that he needed a few more issues for him to deal with. Had to do it now. Of course.

Her eyes narrowed.

"That ain't what it looks like, sugar." She'd used that particular endearment since she'd graduated high school. It had never been something he'd noticed before except to wonder why she'd started using it, though he'd gotten a huge kick out of the males who got oddly weak-kneed around her when she did it.

How--ironic. He used to get amused by the various reactions of men to Rogue. He had. Up to and including Remy's gaping shock at that first look at her. Ha ha ha, so funny.

"Logan!" A hand on his wrist again and he wasn't sure that was a good idea at all. "You okay? Shit, how many of those shots does it take to knock you down?"

Oh fuck, he wished it was the alcohol, almost laughed at her except he wasn't sure how she would take that. That would explain so much, but goody for him, he'd metabolized most of the fucking whiskey already. The edge of her scarf trailed down her chest and he took a breath, got the bottle, and poured them both another shot.

He needed it bad.

There were really only two options. And one of them, preferred option, was getting back to the Mansion so he could process this completely and start putting this together. Option two he wasn't going to think about, because it wasn't going to happen. Carefully, he groped for his keys.

"Oh no. Logan, there's no way you're drivin' like this."

Oh God, did she have a point.

"You want to?" Rogue's ability on a motorcycle was something less than legendary, and alcohol and flying did not mix, period. She'd found that out the hard way.

"Shit no." A frown which lightened abruptly. "You bring your apartment keys?"

Three blocks away. They could walk. He'd forgotten all about that convenient apartment. So convenient. He knew he should have a better option, but she was getting up, grabbing her gloves and pulling them on absently before reaching out and grabbing his arm--

\--he wondered if she had any idea how close she was to being pushed across that table and asked a few questions.

Fuck it. He got up, pulling on his jacket as she threw him confused glances, then he found his wallet and dropped some bills on the surface of the table before sliding an arm loosely around her shoulders.

"You left your gloves."

Huh?

"Logan, your gloves."

Oh. He might need those. Scratch that, he wouldn't need them, because he was going to do nothing that'd he'd need gloves for. But better get them anyway. She was already reaching over, grabbing them quickly and tucking them into her jacket pocket.

"Logan, was there something in the whiskey I need to be worried about? You're acting really weird. And _*do*_ you have those keys?"

"Yeah." He always had his keys. Always. And what kind of luck was that, he just happened to throw them in his pocket on his way downstairs to have a cigar? Gloves and keys and this smacked of the most insane contrivance fate had ever dealt him. With one hand, he fished out the second ring and Rogue took them from his hand, obviously not trusting him to keep up with them now.

This wasn't unusual. She'd been there before. She'd spent an entire week with him during college finals so she wouldn't be distracted by her friends. She did, in fact, have her own keys so when he was gone she could get away from the Mansion herself. He could remember coming back once, years ago, and smelling her on the bed and smiling a little to know she'd been around. She also did his laundry, always welcome. And how odd, he'd never considered the fact that he'd never given anyone else keys to get in. Not the women he dated, not any of the other kids, not Summers or Jeanie or the Professor or any other X-Man, period. Shit, some of them didn't even know where it was.

Rogue had helped him pick furniture for it. He still had some of the catalogues, and he could remember her stretched out in front of the television and making selections with a permanent marker, a beer beside her elbow, rolling over to ask him what his feelings were on antique versus contemporary design.

Outside, they moved the bike and locked it until morning, and he found himself noticing things that several years of exposure had made normal, things he hadn't seen because he just never thought to look. She was graceful, and the leather pants she was wearing were definitely a little too tight and she was cute in little t-shirts that showed off an inch of skin around her waist when she raised her arms. She'd always liked heeled boots, and no, she wasn't wearing underwear, and that was so obvious how the hell had he missed it--hold it, stop. Process this, Logan.

He wanted her. It was as simple as that. Break it down to its simplest terms, its most basic, common denominator, all that shit. He wanted her. He'd loved her since he met her, there was no doubt of that, none at all, and she knew that and he knew that and everyone knew that. This was not new.

Except it was.

"Marie."

She turned then, hair whipping around, and God, she was beautiful, and he'd always known that too. Always. Knew it the same way he knew a lot about her except this one thing, that he hadn't wanted her before and now he did, and she was beautiful. Staring at him from behind green eyes and confused as all hell.

If this was someone else, he would have been laughing his ass off.

"I haven't used that name in years. And you've never used it before tonight. What the hell is up with you?"

This was the worst time to find out this crap--she was in the middle of an emotional crisis and getting moved on from Remy, and he wished suddenly he had the sensitivity to care and stop this, stop it now. But it had begun and he'd never in his life stopped himself when he wanted something. So there it was. She was getting over Remy, and he wanted her. Period.

But that didn't mean anything at all was going to happen. At least right here on the street, where anyone at all could wander by.

"Nothin'. Let's go." A companionable arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer than was really necessary and getting his gloves from her jacket pocked at the same time, pulling them on as they walked. She was shooting him confused glances, but was quiet and he had time, time to think about this. Think it through carefully and replay every reason why this just wasn't acceptable, not at all.

She was, had been, his closest friend, granted. He'd loved her as long as he'd known her, but he definitely hadn't wanted her when he met her. He could clear himself there.

"Logan, you're makin' me nervous."

Backtrack.

"Why?"

She frowned, fiddling with the edges of her jacket, and he supposed that she had the right to be a little confused. She had no idea. He still had no idea what to tell her and he had several hours alone with her now and he'd have to talk about something.

"Fish theory." How--appropriate.

"Huh?" Eyebrows arched in surprise.

"That thing--you said Jubes said. Fish theory. Lots of fish in the sea or whatever shit that was, you and fish in any case."

Rogue stopped completely.

"I'm really glad you're not driving, Logan. Is your healing factor off or somethin'?"

"I'm fine." Better than fine. He was getting used to it, and it wasn't nearly as utterly strange, though to be honest, it hadn't been strange at all anyway. He realized he was playing with the hair over her shoulder and she hadn't said anything about that--and her scent was different. Experimentally, he drew a soft line across her shoulder with the tips of his fingers. Not angry or upset though--mostly confused, somewhat sad still, but under it all--there. Right there, he knew what that was, and if he hadn't been looking for it, he never would have noticed. And he'd never looked for that scent on Rogue either, so of course he'd never noticed it. He'd always known that she liked it when he touched her.

He'd never, ever known she liked it that much.

One block to the apartment. He grinned and felt her gaze again and thought to himself what the hell he was going to say to her when they got up there. Because it would have to be something, and it would have to come out right.

And it was going to happen, damn it.

* * *

For once, she wasn't throwing up in the bathroom, despite the fact they'd finished the bottle--well, no, he'd finished the bottle with that last little streak of shots. She was in his closet, looking for something to sleep in, and he was sitting on the bed with the vague idea of taking off his boots. Jacket discarded on a chair by the front door with hers.

She'd slept here before--sometimes, he'd slept on the couch, when he still worried about accidentally impaling her, but that hadn't been often, and certainly not after her raised eyebrows at his fumbled explanation, which had made him feel oh so stupid and brought that entire train of thought to a stop. Usually they just went to sleep, her breathing inches away, the soft sound of her slowing heartbeat, things that were comforting, things that were Rogue.

His boots were still on his feet and he was watching the closet door with unusual interest. Inside, he could hear her picking up and discarding clothes by the armful and then a soft sound of satisfaction or maybe just resignation that she found something acceptable--she'd raided his closet for years. Nothing unusual there at all.

Except it was.

She walked out wearing one of his flannel shirt, and she still wasn't wearing a bra, and sat down beside him, reaching down for her boots when her head came up abruptly. One gloved finger tapped her chin suddenly.

"Logan, did I bring my purse?"

Absolutely no idea.

"Couch?" That was good, he got a word out. Most of the buttons were undone on the shirt, revealing a lot of very pale, very possibly good-tasting skin, straight down to what would have been her braline. She stood up, walking toward the door. Right there, she paused as she reached for the doorknob. Purse, purse, purse-- "No, you didn't bring a purse."

She turned around, leaning against the door, and he was getting up--he _*was*_ getting up, walking toward her, and she watched him with a frown of concentration.

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Not really, though he didn't remember seeing a purse. He came to a stop, reaching out and finding the knot of her scarf, untying it quickly, running the silk between his fingers. Fine, light as air, almost perfectly transparent.

"Logan?"

There was more than a question in her voice now--something else, indefinable, something that made him tighten that much more. He looked up, meeting green eyes and the smell of whiskey and confusion and below it still, getting stronger--no, he wasn't wrong. It had always been there. He'd just never known.

Her mouth trembled a little and she leaned back into the door.

"It won't work." Her voice was a notch above a whisper. "I don't need your pity, Logan."

"You've never needed that."

She knew--God, she had to know him that well, when he took her face between his hands, tilting it a little, giving her the option of pulling away, but she wasn't moving and he knew she wasn't breathing.

"Let me."

Wide-eyed, she hesitated, then a slow nod, and he brushed a kiss across her mouth over a whisper of silk, feeling the instant response when she moved into it, lips parting. Careful. Delicate. Then he leaned forward again, licking the corner of her mouth, nipping her full lower lip, and she was trembling.

Her heartrate was so fast he wondered if she was going to pass out right here.

"Marie--" Leaned his forehead against the door beside her, trying to think, her breath warm against his throat. "You don't have to--"

Leather brushed across his hands, as she took the scarf from him, hesitating, then sliding it back over her mouth. Turning her head, staring up at him with utter trust.

"I want--" Stopping, and he covered her fingers with his. Waited. Just for a moment, before she let him take the silk, reaching out slowly, running the tips of her fingers over his shoulders. Something new, something different, but not new at all. She'd always been comfortable touching him. "Logan, I--" Something kindling in her eyes, something that he knew, he recognized, before a slow, uncertain smile.

He'd never seen her look like that before.

"S'okay."

Fingers locking over his shoulders, pulling him against her, and this time when he kissed her, the green eyes closed and her whole body moved into it, into him. He could feel her nails through his shirts and her gloves, feel her arch hard against him, and her mouth opened, letting him slide his tongue inside. A hint of sweat on the scarf, the taste of whisky and Rogue through the material, her breasts, which had got him into this in the first place, pressed against his chest--and this wasn't quite like anything else or anyone else, and not just because he was going to be doing some of the most creative work of his life in a few minutes. Bending a little, he slid his hands down to her ass and long legs wrapped around his waist when he lifted her, both arms around his neck, clinging hard, responding hard. With pure energy and strength and passion he'd always known she had, and when her mouth pulled away, breathing heavily, pulling the scarf down and dropping it over the side of his throat, and soft, silky lips were pressed to his pulse. He stroked her hair back and tried to remember how to breathe.

And the fact that he _*wasn't*_ going to take her against a wall the first time, period. Even with her boots digging into his back and the slow grind of her body against him. Even when he bucked a little against her and she moaned.

One step backward and she bit down, giggling at his reaction to that, which was almost a stumble, and she lifted her head, green eyes full of light.

"Marie--"

"Don't." If possible, her entire body seemed to lighten with her eyes, and he wondered how the hell he'd missed this for so long. "Don't even try it. Come on, sugar." Releasing her arms, pulling up the silk between them, a breath against his lips, and then she kissed him, opening his mouth with hers, her tongue darting out between his teeth, tracing through his mouth, over his tongue, burying herself as deeply as she could get. He twisted a hand in her hair, wishing he could take off just one glove and feel it, and the bed hitting his knees interrupted the train of thought. Carefully, he got a knee on the mattress, lowered her down and settling his weight on his elbows over her, the long legs still wrapped around him.

Finally, he managed to pry himself from the addiction of her mouth, and the gloved fingers stroked down his back, dragging her nails.

"Logan, what--" Stopped on a breath when he unbuttoned the two buttons that kept the shirt covering her, pulling the scarf down, covering her breasts with it. She laughed again--delighted, uninhibited, completely familiar, nothing different than a thousand other laughs he'd heard from her.

Except it was.

"Yes. That's it, sugar. Oh--yes." On a long breath with the first touch on her nipple, the brush of his fingers over her skin, arching her back. Perfect skin, the color of new cream, had to be unique to her, he'd never seen this color before, blending into the rich pink of her nipples. Licked one lightly, just to feel her legs tighten, feel her squirm up against him, gloved fingers running through his hair and over the back of his neck restlessly.

"Logan--"

"Shh." Cupping and caressing all that warm, soft flesh, the muscle built beneath from years of playing superhero. Bending his head, he dropped a light kiss on the tip, then circled her nipple with his tongue, receiving a full-body shiver in response, accompanied by another low moan, and he ran his hands down her sides to make her giggle again when he took the nipple in his mouth.

"GOD, yes--yes, just like--ooooh yes." Her moan ended with another laugh with a run of fingers up her ribs, shivering, moaning, hands digging in hard and he had to remember how damned strong she was. Wrapped up in the warm feel and taste of her, he left one nipple after another long lick, sliding over to the other, and shit, she tasted even better than she looked. Lifting his head, he had to smile, seeing the look of surprise in her eyes along with the pleasure.

Then she pushed him over onto his back--damn good move there, he wondered who had taught her that--and braced her hands above his shoulders, grinding down. And God, that was good, it was better than good, lifting a hand to slide down over his chest, then lowering her head and bit off the first button. Long dark hair fell like a curtain over him and he ran his fingers through the strands, silky soft against his face.

"Creative," he heard himself murmur over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears as she continued to rock in that perfect rhythm.

"You have no idea, Wolvie." That got her a growl and she giggled again, lifting her head with the second button in between her teeth, winking before dropping it on the bed.

"I don't have that many shirts, darlin'."

"I'll sew 'em back on. Lay still--you'll like it more." He pushed up against her hips and there, another full shiver of her body. Third button, another buck into her and she moaned around the button, dropping it quickly. The rest she ripped with a single gloved finger, dragging her nails down over his undershirt before sliding her hands beneath.

He complained about the uniforms, but he'd never deny that he enjoyed the feel of leather. Her head ducked to his chest and he ran his fingers back through her hair, down over her back, flexing on her hips as she moved--he wanted her.

She met his eyes and he saw the same thing reflected there, written in bright green light. Reaching down, she slid her hand over his erection, and he sucked in a long breath.

"Where are the condoms?" Husky voice, breathless. That made him laugh.

"Where the hell do you think?"

She giggled then, moving her weight onto one hand and leaning forward, bringing a breast extremely close. Temptingly close, and he cupped it gently, running his thumb over the nipple, hearing her sharply indrawn breath then the sound of her fumbling through the bedside table. A growl of triumph (from her), mission accomplished, she was ripping the foil off with her teeth. A grin as her fingers went to his jeans.

"Whoa, baby, slow down--" he grabbed for her evading hands.

"What, you really think you're gonna be on top?" With a jerk, she brought down the zipper and lifted herself up on her knees. "You wanna do some modifications, baby, or we doin' this another way?"

"No problem." The slide of sharp metal and she tossed her head back, hands resting on her thighs, breathing out softly with the slide of metal across her crotch. Then he sheathed it again and slid his fingers between the damp edges of leather, and the smell was enough--oh God damn, it was good, he could lose himself in that scent. "Marie--"

She whimpered softly as he circled her clit with his thumb, sliding a finger inside her, and she jerked in response, swaying above him with a half-open flannel shirt, her hands running over her thighs slowly, digging into the leather material. Long hair fanning across her back and over one shoulder, eyes closed. One hand braced itself on his chest briefly before she opened her eyes, looking down at him.

"Yeah, baby." Gloved hands pushed down his jeans with more haste than care, took him in her hand--and leather was definitely good and _*why*_ the hell hadn't he ever tried that before anyway? She stroked him for several long, delicious minutes, breathing as hard as he was--not a good pun there but so fucking accurate--and then unwrapped the condom and slid it on, bracing him just below her, and his hands closed over her hips--

\--and in a single motion, he was inside her. All thought just stopped. Breathing stopped. It was enough to feel her, hot and wet and tight all around him. Hot and wet and tight and _*her*_, leaning over him with an expression of pure pleasure on her face, lips parted, eyes closed.

"Oh Logan, yes, yes--perfect, sugar, just perfect." She didn't move for a moment, inner muscles slowly adjusting, then finally looking down at him, and he could swear all the light of the room was in her eyes. "You're amazing."

He pushed up against her and her head slid forward, covering him with a fall of dark hair and he could see her eyes close, a shudder running through her.

"I'll prove it."

She lifted herself slowly, achingly slow, drawing it out, and sweat broke out on his forehead, and his palms gripping her hips, and shit, he may be leaving bruises and didn't even care. Then sliding back down with one liquid movement and he pushed up against her, hearing her startled gasp and the scent increased--she'd be no time at all in coming. Good thing--neither was he.

Taking a firm grip on her hips, he flipped her onto her back and the glove-encased hands grabbed his biceps, arching up with the next thrust with a low moan, head thrown back, long hair spread out across the pillow.

"Okay, so you're on top. This time." A shift and the long legs encircled him, squeezing once before heels dug into the small of his back, sharp edges of pain that just made him tighten even more. An utterly brilliant smile. "Do it, Logan."

"God yes." Braced on his elbows, staring down at her eyes, he wanted to see her face, see everything, moving smoothly into the next thrust, throat arching, green eyes closed. "No, baby, look at me. Come on, Marie." Another thrust, a little faster, and he got a hand up to her face, tilting it so he could see her eyes. She was close, so close. So damned, close, he could smell it, he knew it. A little faster, a little harder, just to see her squirm, feel the matching rhythm of her hips, her breath coming too fast, slurring words and moans together and one of her hands found his and he braced it just over her head, keeping her eyes locked to his, sweat breaking out across her forehead and upper lip--

\--and her whole body convulsed, so strongly he knew there was no way in hell he'd be holding out any longer.

"LOGAN! YES!" Release, sheer ecstasy, and laced through it, triumph, perfect and inarguable, someone who had gotten everything they ever wanted and more. He knew he said something, when the rush took over, coming down with a shock of pleasure that raced through every vein in his body, biting down through the flannel into the skin of her shoulder and collapsing on top of her, so glad she could take his weight that easily because he doubted if he'd ever move again. Sure as hell didn't want to.

Long fingers stroked his hair, pushing it back, and he supposed a little vaguely that he could move if he had the energy. Of course, if Rogue wanted him to move, she could damn well move him herself pretty easily. Her breathing was close to his ear, still harsh but slowing down as her body continued to tremble.

"That was good, Logan." A softly exhaled breath.

"I'd say so." He nuzzled her hair, finding her ear and raking his teeth gently over it, then lifting himself on one arm. Her fingers dug into his back when he began to slide out of her.

"Don't move yet."

"Gotta lose the condom, baby. Just a sec." Only a sec, quick trip to the bathroom, stripped off his overshirt, lifted her up to pull the blankets back, redeposited her. She looked good there, in his bed. He'd have to keep her here permanently. Hair was a mess, but it was always a mess. Only now growing out from the Carolesque cut. Absently, he ran his fingers through it, drawing it out on the pillow.

"Oh, we're staying here tonight?" A low purr that sent a shudder up his spine.

"You wanted to be on top, remember?"

"Ohh. Good point." Carefully, he turned her until her head rested against his chest, still feeling the effects of what had to be one of the single best orgasms of his life--or close enough, anyway--and the gloved hands stroked down his chest slowly. "God, I'm hungry."

He started laughing then, rolling on top of her to look into her eyes. She giggled back, one long leg twisting around his.

"Delivery?" she asked, arching a little, and he breathed out sharply at the feel, the scent. This was good, this was very good.

"Only if I can eat it off you."

"You suicidal, sugar?" Arms sliding around his neck, fingers stroking across the spine lightly.

"I like to live dangerously." Proving it, he nuzzled at her throat, long hair blocking direct contact, catching a fold of skin and biting down. She moaned softly, wriggling and her other ankle locked around his calf.

"So I've noted." Her breath was sharp. "Where's the phone?"

Good question. Logan lifted his head, saw it on the bedside table, lunging to grab it with one hand and her mouth was warm and wet against his chest, seeking and finding one nipple, sucking idly. "Shit, Marie--could you stop for a second?"

"For a second. That's all you get."

It was the single most enticing grin he'd ever gotten, then she went limp and he shifted off her, sitting on the edge of the bed to go through the pile of take-out menus that he kept in every room that had a phone. Food emergencies, after all, were food emergencies.

The phone was ringing and he was trying to pick something out when she got up--he gave her a glance.

"Fried shrimp," she said, and he nodded, looking back down to debate between the fried chicken and fried steak and fried--well, anything vaguely mammalian. A few long minutes and someone picked up on the other side and Rogue emerged from the bathroom. Hair in better shape, a little damp. So was her face. Glanced back down at the menu, still thinking. Going for the chicken. Looked edible. She disappeared from his peripheral vision. Definitely chicken.

A voice on the other end. Good.

"Yeah, we'll have--holy SHIT!" Breathing ceased. Upper brain function ceased. _*Everything*_ ceased that didn't have to do with the girl kneeling between his legs (and didn't that just show that he debated the merits of take-out too intensely?) leather hand against his inner thigh, her lips wrapped neatly around the tip of his cock. Sucking.

"Logan? You gonna get my shrimp anytime soon?" And shit, her mouth had moved, but the other hand was stroking the condom-covered length--smiling as innocently as if she'd had nothing to do with the fact he'd just dropped the phone on the bed beside him. Easily, she reached over, lifting the phone, placing it back in his hand. "Fried shrimp with lemon-orange sauce, sugar. Get to it." Both hands ran the length of his thighs. then her mouth descended, taking the head in her mouth and sucking sharply.

"Fuck."

Her eyes came up, meeting his, then quickly glancing at the phone. Another wicked grin, then she took a breath. Slowly--and damn, his hand-eye coordination was just shot to hell--he managed to get the phone to his ear.

Couldn't look away from that steady green gaze that held him, though.

On the other end--"Sir?" Sounded worried. Or suspicious. Coulda cared less. He knew he'd break the phone any second now, struggled to remember why the hell he was using it in the first place.

"Fried shrimp. Lemon orange sauce. Barbecue sauce." He hoped his voice didn't sound as odd as he suspected. "Chocolate ice cream. Fried chicken. For Logan. You know the address." Rogue bit lightly, grinning, then took a long breath. A wink and she swallowed--and he was all the way down her throat.

Phone jerked from the wall. There. Done with that crap.

"Oh fuck, baby." Her hand pressed into his chest and he lay back, running his gloved hands lightly through her hair, and she giggled again, low in her throat, sending hot pleasure rushing through him. Then she was gone--no, God, no, get back down there, damn it--and she was astride him, leather fingers closed over his condom-covered length, lowering herself carefully onto him. Green eyes went wide and dark and he cupped her breasts, pushing the flannel out of the way.

"Baby--"

"Say Marie," she said softly, then pushed down when he arched up, and he was buried all the way inside her--hot and tight and wet and so good. Booted legs braced on either side of him, and she lowered herself down until her mouth was inches from his. "You like, Logan?"

"You'd better believe it." Squeezing her breasts a little, then circling the nipples with his thumbs, feeling her breath against his face, green eyes closing. Quickly, he pushed the shirt up, sitting up as he pulled it down to her elbows, trapping her hands at her sides. Inches of silky-soft, dangerous skin, and he watched her slowly open her eyes, staring down at him.

Shit, she trusted him. He'd always taken that for granted. But--God.

A quick lick over her collarbone, too quick for her skin to awaken. She moaned softly, hands struggling in the sleeves, and he caught both her wrists, keeping them pinned at her waist. The tip of a nipple, and she whimpered, leaning into him before jerking back.

"Logan--" she whispered, voice breaking. "You--"

"Shhh." That soft place between her breasts, where sweat had dried. Just below her breasts, quick, and this time the taste made him linger and he felt the connection snap on and jerked back, lightheaded. She whimpered something and her hands struggled in his--but she could have thrown him easily and didn't.

Her inner muscles tightened briefly, brilliant heat shooting through him, and he pinned her wrists behind her, finding her gloves with one hand. Carefully pulling them off, dropping them to the floor behind her.

God, she was beautiful, skin reddened, eyes dark. She tilted her head forward and a curtain of dark hair fell around his face and shoulders. He pushed up against her, and she exhaled sharply, her knees enough leverage to lift herself, almost out completely, and she drew in a shuddering breath, his gloved fingers sliding between hers, holding them against her bare back.

"Logan--" He pushed up against her as she came back down with a whimper, so deeply inside her he had no idea where he began and she ended, only that it was good, so good, he never wanted to stop. Bit her chin and she smiled with the next soft gasp as she rocked against him.

"You did wanna be on top, baby."

* * *

It was morning and the room was a mess. Somewhere--Logan didn't really want to think where--there was half a box of shrimp and an absolutely empty container that used to hold lemon-orange sauce. Amongst other sundry he really wasn't interested in trying to track by scent. Some scents, he knew, should not mix. Definitely.

And he was sure that orange-lemon crap was the reason his arm was sticking to the sheet.

Rogue, somewhere to his right, moaned softly, and Logan lifted himself off his stomach to give her a glance. Another moan, and she opened her eyes, staring up at the ceiling briefly before pulling a pillow over her face.

"God. Morning. Bad, Logan. Very, very bad."

"Depends on what you do with them." There was a line of orange-lemon on her shoulder. And that had to be barbecue sauce that was lining her chin. And--yes, he could smell chocolate somewhere.

Hmm. Shifting a little, he pulled the sheet from her waist. Naked. Leather long wrecked and discarded, as well as two pair of hose that the convenience store clerk a block and a half down was probably having nightmares about. Long, finger shaped bruises on her upper thighs and her hips. Double hmm.

Found the chocolate though, and he grinned a little when she rolled on her side, ducking her face out to give him a playful glare, lips turning up in a smile.

"There's no way in hell I'm gonna be able to walk today."

He raised an eyebrow at her expression, then pulled the sheet up quickly, covering her to the neck, and pulling her closer. Both arms went up and out of the way briefly, then used the sheet to drape across his shoulders.

"Once is pity sex. Three times is alcohol. How the hell many times was that?"

He wasn't sure. Everything blurred after the shrimp arrived and he found out exactly what Rogue wanted with the orange-lemon sauce.

"Lost count." Shifted his hands to the small of her back, massaging lightly. "You're invulnerable, remember?"

"Yeah, well, you'd be surprised the stuff invulnerability doesn't cover. Not a bit lip or a hicky or a single strained muscle. Just, you know--bullets. Large people hitting me. Explosions. Fun stuff."

"Not pity-sex." Her mouth closed lightly over his shoulder and having a healing factor was showing itself to be more than just a little inconvenient. Fuck. She lifted her head, sliding a leg between his knees and rubbing creatively with her knee. "Rogue--"

"Marie." She stopped suddenly, frowning, and this was that moment that he'd been not worrying about because he'd pretty much ignored the idea of it. Ignored so well that it was a shock--because now he'd have to explain and he knew for a fact that Rogue was already examining it--she did crap like that. And he'd have to explain himself. With any luck, she'd just ask the right questions or assume the right things and let him nod in response to make it all easy. "You wanna tell me what this *_is*_ about, then?"

Fuck. No, he'd be talking his way through it. And there was still lemon-orange sauce on his arm and on her shoulder, and he bent his head, licking it quickly from her skin. Still tasted good. Damn good. And he really wanted to go hunting for that chocolate scent.

"You weren't wearing a bra."

For a second, she stared at him.

"You mean to tell me, if I'd just avoided underwear more, I'd have gotten to have a record number of sexual encounters with you? That's all it took?" A low whistle. "Fuck. Have I been wasting my life at Victoria's Secret or what?"

He had to laugh at that, and she shook her head, pushing him onto his back and bracing herself on one elbow, twirling a length of hair through her fingers.

"You want the long version or the short?"

Rogue's eyebrows jumped.

"I'm hoping to God there's an understandable version, sugar."

He wasn't too sure of that.

"Just--happened."

"You've never seen me sexually." Oh, he had to lift his head again, because there was something in her voice that was definitely interesting. Green eyes were fixed somewhere else completely and she flopped down on her back, frowning, more at herself than him. "Ignore that."

"Nah. Rogue--"

"Rogue's the kid you took out for ice cream. You fucked Marie." Edged just a little still.

"I'd never fuck you, darlin'."

There it was--a twitch, and she turned her head, looking at him. Really looking, a thousand questions floating in her eyes that she answered herself all in the time it took for her to blink.

"Oh." Quiet. He wasn't sure what it meant, decided that he'd have to push a little harder. Fuck.

"Marie--"

"No. Don't say it--if it's what I want, I wanna keep the illusion for a bit, you know?"

"Marie, for God's sake, you have keys." Non-sequitir, sort of, but shit, she _*did*_ have keys and she wore his clothes and this wasn't such a huge jump. He reached out, stroking back her hair. "I wouldn't--not to you."

She frowned then, a little vertical slash between her eyebrows that was always made him grin. With the tip of a gloved finger, he traced it, sliding down her nose, flicking the tip lightly.

She smiled then.

"Okay." Then slowly, sitting up, peeling the sheet away. "I'm gonna take a shower, sugar. You mind?"

"Feel free." Laced his hand behind his head to watch her as she climbed over him, dropping to the floor lightly, tossing a grin at him as sunlight from the window streamed over her skin. A fully naked Rogue was not something he could possibly miss. God. "Shit, you weren't kidding when you said invulnerability didn't cover some things."

"It's damned selective on what is termed a threat. Go figure." She paused, smiling then, a smile that lit her up from within, a smile that made him breathless and hard at the same time. Her eyes flickered down to the sheet that just barely covered his hips, the smile twisting wickedly. Then pushed her hair back walking unself-consciously toward his closet, probably to see if she'd left anything she could wear, or failing that, for some sweats. A few minutes later, she ducked back out, clothing choices over her arm, but she turned around at the bathroom door, watching him with an indecipherable, steady gaze. Then leaned against the bathroom door briefly, hugging the pile of gray and white cloth to her chest.

"I never stopped wanting." A pause, and her head tilted. "They're wrong you know? Reality can be better than fantasy."

Then a twirl of dark hair and the bathroom door shut.

Logan had a lot to think about. Rolling back over, he hit an orangey-smelling spot that made him smile a little as he settled himself to wait for her to come out.

It actually took two minutes for the sense of what she'd said to sink in.

And he was at the bathroom door. Unlocked, of course. Opened it, walked in, pushed the sweats and towels off the toilet and sat down.

"Marie."

"Yeah?" Over the shower--a different scent, not just lemon-orange, shrimp, chocolate, sex, him, her, chicken, sweat, and barbecue sauce--whipped cream? Dear God, he didn't even want to know where the container for that was now. Pushing the curtain aside, he saw her leaning against the back wall, water on hot, hair plastered to pink and white skin.

Lots of pink and white skin. He'd never get enough of looking at her.

"Are you crying?" Eyes reddened, he'd been right about the scent, and she wiped a hand across her face impatiently.

"Shit, Logan, wouldn't you?"

He didn't think so, but he wasn't Rogue. Pushing it back a little further, he stepped inside--fuck that was hot, and he liked hot. A muted gasp, and she was pressed against the back wall as if she was Kitty and could sink straight into it.

"Not sure. Marie--"

"I mean," she waved at the shower space with one hand. "I mean--fuck, it was one of the worst nights of my life, then, boom, I'm having sex with you and food was involved, and really good sex, and I'm having sex with _*you*_." The emphasis was nice. This was going well. Sort of. "I mean--I grew up, I got over you, and then--" She stopped, staring at him. She'd gotten over him? There'd been something to get over? "And it wasn't some weird dream or a hallucination, I had sex with you and it wasn't casual. There was nothing about what you did with me last night that was casual."

"No." Rogue was the definition of non-casual, period. Nothing since he'd met her had been casual.

"So--so it's okay if I get a little emotional, okay? Logan, that was fulfilling a fantasy, you know? No one gets that, no one has something like this dropped in their lap. It's--it's--" she swiped a hand across her eyes, almost knocking her head against the wall in the process.

Logan had no idea where to go with this one. He might have been better off trying to explain about the whiskey and the bra outside and the underwear, and maybe try to tell her what had changed.

Except nothing had, nothing at all, except this.

"It's normal," she said softly, finally. And his head snapped up, meeting the green eyes. "I woke up and I didn't feel like crap or that it was something I should be shocked at or guilty or any weirdness. Just got up, and you're there, and there's nothing that's changed except I got to have sex with you before going to sleep, which, granted, is all kinds of new. I have keys already, and I even know your digital phone number, the phone that no one else knows you have." Hmm, yeah. That damn phone. Impulse buying could be a bitch. "So--so it's just really normal, and I don't know--know--"

He knew how much she hated to cry, and fuck, he couldn't even hold her. Reaching out, he stroked her cheek and she turned her head into his palm. Good sign.

"You don't have to decide everything now, baby. I'm not goin' anywhere."

She laughed softly and he smiled, pulling away and stepping out, because she was naked and while yesterday that would be an academic sort of thing, today it was most definitely not, and she was definitely going to notice his reaction. She was naked and she looked damn good. Pulling the shower curtain back into place, he went looking for something to wear. Hoping like hell she didn't use all the hot water.

When she came out, sweatpants and one of his t-shirts, bare feet with polished toenails, wet hair hanging down her back--she dropped onto his lap without a word, ungloved hands against the back of his t-shirt. Delicate face against his shoulder, eyes shut tight.

She didn't say anything but she was still Rogue, and there was no way on God's green earth he was ever letting her go now. No way in hell.

One thousand and one hundred and God only knew how many times he'd held her like this. And nothing had changed, even the smell of her hair and the warmth of her body and her trust.

Except it had, and he didn't have a single problem with that.


End file.
